


A Song of Rice and Fire

by musicanova



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: (you can choose which steve it is), Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Artist Steve Rogers, Artist!Steve, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Meet-Cute, Meet-Ugly, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Steve screwed up, barista Bucky, matchmaker!Natasha, more like
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-26
Updated: 2015-08-26
Packaged: 2018-04-17 08:18:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4659399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musicanova/pseuds/musicanova
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>OR the time when Steve tried to show off his cooking skills to Bucky and failed miserably.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Song of Rice and Fire

**Author's Note:**

  * For [littleJ_21](https://archiveofourown.org/users/littleJ_21/gifts).



> {{ An AU meet-cute for Jen, an early happy birthday because school sucks and I wanted to get this out before then!! It’s my first ever fan-fic, so don’t judge too harshly maybe?? Hopefully you enjoy it, I know there's some parts that could've been written better... Beta'd by [Emily](http://casgay.tumblr.com)! All feedback is welcome and appreciated. }}
> 
> [ᴄʟɪᴄᴋ ʜᴇʀᴇ ᴛᴏ sᴇᴇ ᴛʜᴇ sᴛᴜᴄᴋʏ ᴘᴀᴄᴋ ᴛʜɪs ɪs ᴀ ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴏғ﹗](http://wintersolqiers.tumblr.com/post/128186090282/happy-sweet-16th-littlej-21-this-pack)

Alright, let’s be real honest here, Steve was panicking. Like full on, asthma attack worthy panicking, and he thought he’d grown out of that damned asthma after puberty. He both loved and hated Natasha at the same time for setting him up with some Greek God of sorts, who Steve was definitely not worthy to be in the presence of. But when he walked into Nat’s coffee shop for the first time after being pestered about it for months and was greeted by the piercing blue eyes of the barista and employee of the month, Steve was sold. So very sold. And the worst part of it all? Nat took one look at Steve and just _knew_ exactly what he was thinking.

Which is why when she decided to set Steve up for a date with the aforementioned Greek God, Steve really should not have been surprised in the least. In fact, it was such a Romanov thing to do that he should’ve seen it coming. And apparently, she had the decency to tell her freaking employee of the month who, by his name tag, was called Bucky, a week beforehand, making up some story about how she was “so worried for him because he hasn’t been seen outside in ages and she’s scared he’s wallowing in his own sorrows in the confines of his apartment.” Which was so not true. The only reason Steve hadn’t set foot into Nat’s coffee shop ever again was because of his fear of falling head over heels in love with employee of the month and Greek God, Bucky the Barista.

So, with one accusing look at the red-haired girl standing in front of his apartment door, Steve picked up his grocery bags and headed down to the store. At least he could cook. Or so he thought…

~*~

Bucky was quite proud to be working at The Red Room. It was one of the most successful coffee shops in town, and had been open for two years when he was first employed. Now he’d spent a whole six months working there, although it felt like much longer. He liked the vibe of the place, which was the only correct reaction to have considering that Natasha’s taste was impeccable. It was a jumbled assortment of international decorations, and the cafe swooped from left to right in a timeline that started as a salon from the 16th century and smoothly transitioned to a modern-style cafe by the time you looked over to the right. On paper it sounded messy, but no one should underestimate Natasha Romanov’s sense of style. And that’s not just because she could pick up the nearest object sharp or not and know seventy ways to kill you with it.

He was into his second month of working for Natasha when she started to talk about her high school friend. Apparently he had dazzling blue eyes, which his own reminded her of. Apparently she’d been begging him to visit the shop ever since she started up, but he never got around to it. Apparently that was because she had bad timing and whenever she asked, he was working on a big commissioned piece. Oh yeah, and apparently this dude was an artist. But what his boss failed to mention to him after months of talking his ear off about this man, was how breathtakingly aesthetically pleasing he was, apart from the little talk about his eyes she’d had. (As a side note in case you were wondering, yes Bucky’s brain did literally put together the words breathtakingly aesthetically pleasing.) His hands stopped immediately, as his eyes widened and he quickly put down the mug he was holding before he could drop it. When Mr. High-school-friend-and-artist-with-more-than-just-dazzling-blue-eyes left the store with a caramel macchiato to go, Bucky finally let his jaw drop, turning around angrily to his boss. “What the hell was that?”

Well maybe he was angry at the time, but he was definitely not mad when Natasha handed him a napkin with details for an evening with Steve. In a week. Well, that was good. Certainly enough time to prepare himself. Or so he thought...

~*~

Steven Grant Rogers was frantically rushing around his kitchen, a half-cut stick of celery in one hand and a butter knife in the other. He’d managed to call over his neighbour Sam to help him clean his apartment earlier so luckily, it was spotless. The look on his face when he entered though, could only be described as incredulous. “You’re the neat one out of the two of us!” he had exclaimed, examining the rooms. So maybe Natasha wasn’t _entirely_ making up a story when she said Steve was wallowing in his apartment… Maybe. Racing into the bathroom to fix himself up for one more time, he set a stray strand of hair back in place just in time as he heard the buzzer.

~*~

Bucky walked up the stairs to Steve’s apartment slowly and carefully, lest he trip and fall. Which in his mind was a highly likely happening, considering how worried he was about this date. Taking a deep breath in through his nose, Bucky knocked twice on the door. He was greeted with a nervous smile that reciprocated his own, and wasn’t sure if that comforted him, or if it made him more anxious. “So…” he started, feeling uneasy with the growing silence. Shit. _He hates me, doesn’t he. This is all Nat’s fault._

~*~

“Oh! Right yeah, welcome. Sorry, I’m just so out of it today, didn’t get much sleep and all that,” Steve flashed a small smile and closed the door behind the barista. “I uh, Nat didn’t really tell me what time to expect you, so I haven’t really started anything yet, but I hope you like sushi? And I mean if you don’t, I’m sure I can try and whip something else up. Cooking was always my forte back when I was in the share house, no one else could cook so it was all up to me, and the majority of them always wanted either Italian or Japanese, so that’s basically my specialty now. But like, desserts are probably my best shot, always were, but you can’t just not have a substantial dinner, right? So I thought sushi would be fine, and…” Steve’s hands were turning clammy as he continued to blubber out nonsense to the ~~Greek God~~ ( _Man, he’s just a normal, earthly man, Steve. There’s no need to panic, he’s just a human! Well maybe he’s not? What if he’s a Cyborg? OH FOR CHRIST’S SAKE GET BACK ON THE TOPIC AND STOP TALKING TO YOURSELF!_ ) before him. There was a reason why he usually kept his mouth shut in social situations, and this was exactly it: Steve was a rambler.

“Hey! No, calm down, sushi’s fine. Sushi’s great, Stevie!” Bucky grinned, resting a hand on the man’s shoulder and cutting him off from an hour long self-debate about whether or not dinner should in fact be sushi. “Where do you keep your cups?” he wandered off into the kitchen, coming back out with two glasses of water before Steve could muster a response.

Bucky hadn't even realised he'd used a nickname, not that Steve minded. (Like, no judging but he got the warm fuzzies when he heard it.)

Steve gratefully accepted the much-needed glass and took a large gulp. “I’ll get to it now then, you can take a seat at the bar. Maybe help me out with the filling? Tell me what you like?” He set down the glass and went straight to measuring the rice, washing it thoroughly and turning on his rice cooker. “So I’ve got smoked salmon, but I also got sashimi grade if you’re into the raw fish thing? I’ve got uh… tuna and cucumber and like, other vegetables depending on what you want, I got crabs sticks as well just in case, Clint used to adore California rolls, so I thought well someone else in the world has to as well, right? And the scallops were on sale today, so I really couldn’t help myself, so there’s that as well. I’ve also got beef, and I can make teriyaki chicken if you want that, _and_ I’m rambling again, aren’t I?” he pulled his mouth down in a frown, choosing two knives from a selection and setting them down onto their respective chopping boards.

“I’m all good with anything and everything,” Bucky replied, keeping his voice steady, clutching onto his right hand for dear life as it tried to rest itself on Steve’s shoulder again. If this guy had a panic attack over something as petty as what to cook for dinner, yes Bucky would guiltily be laughing about it, but also, his first aid skills were a solid rusty at best.

“You can uh… switch on the TV if you want?” Steve suggested, gesturing vaguely with a freshly sharpened sashimi knife at the screen sitting on a poorly structured Ikea shelf. “Just, hum, if you could… maybe not touch the easel?” It was worded much like a question, which Steve cursed himself for, clamping his mouth shut and going back to the chopping board. That was, until he smelt something burning. As the acrid smell of smoke filled his nostrils, Steve whipped around to find his rice cooker on freaking _fire_. “Oh Jesus, Mary and Joseph!” he exclaimed, keeping his _“motherf*cker”_ for private usage in his head.

But while Steve was staring blankly and forlornly at his beloved rice cooker, Bucky, with his razor sharp reflexes, was already up off the sofa and putting the fire out before it reached the smoke alarms. “Thanks…” Steve heard himself say, still in a daze from the event before his eyes. The barista only replied with a lop-sided grin, swiping at his brow and flicking back a little bit of stray hair that had come down during his fire extinguishing escapade. With how hot Steve’s cheeks were now, you could almost think that _he_ was the one who was just on fire, not the rice cooker. Talk about embarrassing yourself on a first date. He’d thought rambling twice was bad enough, but no, the universe had better things in store for him. Including, setting his favourite rice cooker that took three months to save up for, on fire. Thank you, universe, you untimely arsehole.

“Pizza?” Steve asked tentatively, a nervous fidget in his hands.

“Pizza.” Bucky chuckled in confirmation with an easy smile, ushering Steve out of the apartment.

**~*~**

**an epilogue of sorts;**

Steve waltzed into The Red Room at 8:30am on the dot with his sketchbook in hand, as per his daily routine. He’d scored a shared slot in the local gallery for up and coming artists, The Howling Commandos, and was putting together a series of works from around the café for one section of his exhibition. But seated at his usual table in the café with his hand flying effortlessly over the page, Steve looked down with a frown and noticed that he’d gotten a little off task. “Stop mooning over me Rogers, it’s fair creepy,” Bucky strode over to the man with a sly smirk as he pressed his lips to the man's temple. The drawing had more or less ended up to be yet another sketch of Bucky, and not the views from the coffee shop. Not to be any offense to the coffee shop, it was a wonderful space, really. Steve had just… found something that held more of an exquisite beauty (in other words, James Buchanan Barnes). Which of course, was something he would _not_ be telling Natasha while he was still a living man, just in case she decided to murder him in his sleep; a very possible and plausible reasoning for one Steven Grant Rogers’ demise.

“And you over there, stop slacking on the job, lover-boy! Or you’ll lose your five month title of employee of the month!” Natasha yelled from over the counter with an obvious snicker. To say she’d done her job well as a matchmaker was a severe understatement.

“I’ll catch you later, babe,” Bucky murmured in his boyfriend’s ear, marching dutifully back to his station.


End file.
